Today I was reading about the recurrent hair dreams many people with alopecia experience. I confess to feeling a bit sheepish. I've only had one dream. In my dream I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when the panel of large round white bulbs over the mirror reflected a couple of wiry white hairs under my chin. I was horrified!
"No...NO!"I screeched. I tried to rub them off with a wash cloth. I looked in vain for a tweezers in the cabinet...but I'd thrown them all away when my hair fell out. "Not goat-chin hair! Please, God, not the chin hair! I LIKE being bald! No more chicken-butt hair in the morning. When I'm hot I dunk my head under the nearest faucet, shake it dry and walk away cool and refreshed. No more feeling like a cranky bear when hair gets in my eyes. No more spending money lining the pockets of hair care product gurus. I'm free. I'm comfortable. I'm happy. Send it to someone who wants it, Poppa God, 'cause I don't miss it and I don't want it back...especially the chin wire!"
I woke up, stumbled to the bathroom, turned on the lights and checked every inch of my head. Not a hair in sight. "Whew!" I exhaled unaware I'd been holding my breath. I eased my head under tepid water from the sink faucet drying it gently and lovingly with the fluffy bath towel behind the door.
One last look to be sure I hadn't missed an errant hair and I padded back to bed, thinking this hair dream must mean I'm inherently lazy, and more concerned with my creature comfort than my appearance or the opinions of others. I paused, considering whether I should be bothered by such an attitude. I yawned; decided I couldn't be bothered to be bothered, and fell back to sleep. Hairless dreamless delightful sleep.
Showing posts with label alopecia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alopecia. Show all posts
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
My Son's Tweezers
My son, Tony, has a self taught talent for cutting hair. At sixteen, Tony began cutting his own hair to camouflage a receding hairline. He was mortified at the thought of baldness. When friends found out Tony did his own cutting and styling they asked him to cut their hair as well. As Tony’s skill and confidence grew he offered to cut his father’s hair, and has been doing so ever since.
The last time Tony cut the little Greek’s hair I joked: “Hey Tone…will you cut my hair too?”
“Sure, Mom, it will only take a minute,” he quipped.
“Yeah, right! First you have to find a hair to cut.”
“What, you don’t think I can find one little hair?”
“Tony. I haven’t a hair anywhere on my whole body. Yes I’ll bet you can’t find one.”
“How much?”
“I bet you $5,000 you can’t find a hair on my head.”
“Oh, I’ll find one alright.”
Tony’s eyes twinkled and I remembered too late never to bet my son he can’t do something. Even something I’m five thousand percent sure of. He turned back to the task of cutting his father’s hair and I returned to my conversation with his fiancée.
Do you know that feeling that comes on suddenly when somebody is watching you outside of your line of vision? That creepy feeling when you just have to glance behind you to identify the source of your discomfort? I turned my head sharply to the rear nearly knocking off Tony’s nose.
“Mom, don’t move!” he chided. “Krissy, go get my tweezers!”
Laughing, Krissy got up from the table and ran for the tweezers while Tony pressed a finger firmly into my scalp.
“Ha!” he said triumphantly, “I found two hairs! See?”
“You did not. I didn’t feel a thing. I would have felt it if you pulled out a hair.”
“Two hairs,” Tony corrected, “see them?”
I peered at his hand, first with my glasses on, then with them off. Sure enough, there in his palm were two pathetic colorless filaments about 1/16 of an inch long.
“So, that’s two hairs I found. Does that mean I get $10,000?”
“Nope. You don’t get $5,000 either. The deal was to find them and cut them, not pluck them.”
“Aw, Mom!”
Alopecia is unpredictable. Just when you think you’re over it, hair will start falling out again. When you’ve despaired of ever growing a hair again, bam! Back it comes. Friends and family asked why I refused to go to a dermatologist for the usual course of treatment and shots.
I’d watched the son of a friend of mine go that route. The shots were excruciating. Sometimes the hair would grow back in that spot only to fall out next to it. Sometimes the shots didn’t work to grow hair at all, but they certainly worked to keep the young boy focused on his hair as a source of shame, embarrassment and pain.
Thank you, no. Not for me. I had no intention of suffering unnecessary pain – either physical or emotional. I had no intention of giving baldness that kind of power over my life. Submit to pain and shame and hiding…or take my bald head, accessorize and flaunt it with sauce and verve? Well, submission was never one of my strong points, so pass the sauce and heavy on the verve.
The last time Tony cut the little Greek’s hair I joked: “Hey Tone…will you cut my hair too?”
“Sure, Mom, it will only take a minute,” he quipped.
“Yeah, right! First you have to find a hair to cut.”
“What, you don’t think I can find one little hair?”
“Tony. I haven’t a hair anywhere on my whole body. Yes I’ll bet you can’t find one.”
“How much?”
“I bet you $5,000 you can’t find a hair on my head.”
“Oh, I’ll find one alright.”
Tony’s eyes twinkled and I remembered too late never to bet my son he can’t do something. Even something I’m five thousand percent sure of. He turned back to the task of cutting his father’s hair and I returned to my conversation with his fiancée.
Do you know that feeling that comes on suddenly when somebody is watching you outside of your line of vision? That creepy feeling when you just have to glance behind you to identify the source of your discomfort? I turned my head sharply to the rear nearly knocking off Tony’s nose.
“Mom, don’t move!” he chided. “Krissy, go get my tweezers!”
Laughing, Krissy got up from the table and ran for the tweezers while Tony pressed a finger firmly into my scalp.
“Ha!” he said triumphantly, “I found two hairs! See?”
“You did not. I didn’t feel a thing. I would have felt it if you pulled out a hair.”
“Two hairs,” Tony corrected, “see them?”
I peered at his hand, first with my glasses on, then with them off. Sure enough, there in his palm were two pathetic colorless filaments about 1/16 of an inch long.
“So, that’s two hairs I found. Does that mean I get $10,000?”
“Nope. You don’t get $5,000 either. The deal was to find them and cut them, not pluck them.”
“Aw, Mom!”
Alopecia is unpredictable. Just when you think you’re over it, hair will start falling out again. When you’ve despaired of ever growing a hair again, bam! Back it comes. Friends and family asked why I refused to go to a dermatologist for the usual course of treatment and shots.
I’d watched the son of a friend of mine go that route. The shots were excruciating. Sometimes the hair would grow back in that spot only to fall out next to it. Sometimes the shots didn’t work to grow hair at all, but they certainly worked to keep the young boy focused on his hair as a source of shame, embarrassment and pain.
Thank you, no. Not for me. I had no intention of suffering unnecessary pain – either physical or emotional. I had no intention of giving baldness that kind of power over my life. Submit to pain and shame and hiding…or take my bald head, accessorize and flaunt it with sauce and verve? Well, submission was never one of my strong points, so pass the sauce and heavy on the verve.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
My Husband’s Humor
During the time my hair was falling out my husband got a call notifying him his mother was gravely ill. He arranged to take a personal leave from work and went to Greece for two weeks to be with her in what turned out to be her final days. Mike’s love for his mother is deep and strong and true. I knew he would be shattered when he came home and greatly in need of comfort.
Alopecia is no respecter of need. It has no sense of timing and certainly no compassion.
While Mike was gone my hair loss accelerated and I looked like a dog with rampant mange. I didn’t want Mike to come home and see me looking sickly having just left his mother on her deathbed. It was the day before his return my friend and I went hair shopping and I had the wispy mess shaved off and replaced with a wig. I gave him a head’s up by phone to avoid shock, but my wonderful little Greek was understandably lost in a fog of sorrow, grief and exhaustion and it didn’t really register.
There have been times during our 33 years of marriage when each of us has needed to lean on the other while we dealt with something too big to handle by ourselves. We have been there for each other no matter what. This time I worried I would be a horrific hindrance rather than a haven for Mike. I was afraid when I reached out to comfort him he would recoil.
My sister and brother-in-law met me at the airport to welcome Mike back. It’s a family tradition…Starbucks coffee at the airport to send off and receive family and friends. It didn’t help my confidence level that neither of them was enthusiastic about the wig. It was a sudden change and would take some getting used to.
Mike walked down the terminal ramp towards us and my heart lurched. He looked terrible. Brown circles ringed his eyes and his face was creased in places it had been smooth when he left. He looked unwell and fragile. His eyes locked on mine and held while both pairs filled with tears. The emotional interplay of years of love and support was all we saw and felt. No words needed. Everything conveyed in the gentle sway of our hug. He took a ragged breath and pulled back, looking at my head.
“So,” he said staring at my new auburn synthetic locks, “who are you and what have you done with my wife?” Everyone laughed, including Mike.
“Well, it’s a lot better than what’s underneath,” I quipped and lifted part of the hair piece to expose my naked scalp.
“Holy moly,” he said, “you’ve turned into Kojak!”
“How bad can that be?” I shot back. “He’s Greek and gorgeous!”
That night, after hours of sharing, many quiet tears and much reminiscent laughter, we went upstairs to our bedroom. I took off the wig and placed it on the yellow plastic stand I’d purchased for it and slowly turned around.
“Come to bed, Kojak,” he said and opened his arms.
Later, I picked up a book and turned on the reading lamp as Mike was dozing off, jet lag claiming the last of his energy. He murmured: “Hey Kojak….turn out the light. It’s bouncing off you head and I’ll never get to sleep.” Seconds later he was gently snoring.
I smiled, filled with gratitude for this man who had run his hands over my shaved head, noted it felt as soft as a baby’s bottom, and kissed the ridges where my eyebrows used to be. His humor was a gift of acceptance…his acceptance a gift of strength…his strength a gift of love.
During the time my hair was falling out my husband got a call notifying him his mother was gravely ill. He arranged to take a personal leave from work and went to Greece for two weeks to be with her in what turned out to be her final days. Mike’s love for his mother is deep and strong and true. I knew he would be shattered when he came home and greatly in need of comfort.
Alopecia is no respecter of need. It has no sense of timing and certainly no compassion.
While Mike was gone my hair loss accelerated and I looked like a dog with rampant mange. I didn’t want Mike to come home and see me looking sickly having just left his mother on her deathbed. It was the day before his return my friend and I went hair shopping and I had the wispy mess shaved off and replaced with a wig. I gave him a head’s up by phone to avoid shock, but my wonderful little Greek was understandably lost in a fog of sorrow, grief and exhaustion and it didn’t really register.
There have been times during our 33 years of marriage when each of us has needed to lean on the other while we dealt with something too big to handle by ourselves. We have been there for each other no matter what. This time I worried I would be a horrific hindrance rather than a haven for Mike. I was afraid when I reached out to comfort him he would recoil.
My sister and brother-in-law met me at the airport to welcome Mike back. It’s a family tradition…Starbucks coffee at the airport to send off and receive family and friends. It didn’t help my confidence level that neither of them was enthusiastic about the wig. It was a sudden change and would take some getting used to.
Mike walked down the terminal ramp towards us and my heart lurched. He looked terrible. Brown circles ringed his eyes and his face was creased in places it had been smooth when he left. He looked unwell and fragile. His eyes locked on mine and held while both pairs filled with tears. The emotional interplay of years of love and support was all we saw and felt. No words needed. Everything conveyed in the gentle sway of our hug. He took a ragged breath and pulled back, looking at my head.
“So,” he said staring at my new auburn synthetic locks, “who are you and what have you done with my wife?” Everyone laughed, including Mike.
“Well, it’s a lot better than what’s underneath,” I quipped and lifted part of the hair piece to expose my naked scalp.
“Holy moly,” he said, “you’ve turned into Kojak!”
“How bad can that be?” I shot back. “He’s Greek and gorgeous!”
That night, after hours of sharing, many quiet tears and much reminiscent laughter, we went upstairs to our bedroom. I took off the wig and placed it on the yellow plastic stand I’d purchased for it and slowly turned around.
“Come to bed, Kojak,” he said and opened his arms.
Later, I picked up a book and turned on the reading lamp as Mike was dozing off, jet lag claiming the last of his energy. He murmured: “Hey Kojak….turn out the light. It’s bouncing off you head and I’ll never get to sleep.” Seconds later he was gently snoring.
I smiled, filled with gratitude for this man who had run his hands over my shaved head, noted it felt as soft as a baby’s bottom, and kissed the ridges where my eyebrows used to be. His humor was a gift of acceptance…his acceptance a gift of strength…his strength a gift of love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is love that enables those of us with alopecia to become boldly bald in a world where all models of note, at least, for my generation are male: Teli Savalis, Yule Brenner, Patrick Stewart.
It must start with self love and self acceptance. When we choose to love and accept ourselves as we are, we open the doors for others to also love and accept us as we are.
We must be willing to give people time to adjust to the change and grease the wheels of change with humor. Not everyone will come around, but do you really want people in your life who are so superficial they can’t see beyond the presence or absence of your hair into the beauty and value of your personhood?
The more women who step out into life boldly bald, the less remarkable female baldness will be. I foresee a day when nobody will think anything of it at all and folks will wonder what the big deal was.
Of course, there’s a down side to that…I’ll have to find something else to blog about.
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